


A beginning

by EvilLittleWeasel



Category: Stand Still Stay Silent
Genre: Hand Jobs, M/M, Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-15
Updated: 2017-01-15
Packaged: 2018-09-14 20:12:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9200438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EvilLittleWeasel/pseuds/EvilLittleWeasel
Summary: Lalli has a problem after his decontamination bath. Emil is happy to help.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Talimee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Talimee/gifts).



> Dear Talimee, I have a soft spot for smut with a side of feelings, so when I saw your prompt, I couldn't pass it by. I hope you have as much fun reading this as I had writing it!

Steam billows into the crisp morning air as Emil pours one more scoop of hot water over Lalli’s head, rinsing away the last of the lather from his hair.  
“We’re done with decontamination”, he tells the scout. Lalli turns his head to look up at him, face half hidden behind a veil of dripping wet hair, but makes no move to get out of the tub. The tilt of his chin is expectant.  
“I think the others are still eating, though, so if you want…” Emil lets his hands settle lightly on Lalli’s shoulders and circles his thumbs gently over the hard planes of his shoulder blades. A contented sigh escapes the Finn, and he nods, shifting into a more comfortable position. Emil can’t fight the pleased grin spreading over his face as he begins kneading Lalli’s back, palms and fingers working to release the knots in the wiry muscles underneath them.

It’s not just that he likes touching Lalli, that tracing the ridges of the scout’s collarbones with his fingertips makes something inside his chest flutter with equal parts of excitement and trepidation. It’s that Lalli likes him enough, trusts him enough to let him do it ‒ that, maybe, Lalli likes and trusts him just a little bit _more_ than anyone else on the crew. Feeling Lalli’s body slowly loosen up under his hands fills Emil with a warmth that he can’t quite make sense of, can’t quite pin a name on.

Not that anything tends to be easy to make sense of when Lalli is involved. They’re in a strange territory between friendship and something else, and Emil isn’t sure what that something else would even be. Isn’t sure what he wants it to be, either. He just knows that he wants _something_. And he thinks ‒ he _hopes_ ‒ that it’s similar to what Lalli wants.

Emil knows that Finnish men bathe together without attaching any particular significance to it, but he’s pretty sure that it doesn’t usually get quite as intimate as this. He’s also pretty sure that Finnish men don’t let people they consider to be just friends kiss them. Yet Lalli doesn’t even open his eyes when Emil leans down to graze his temple with his lips. It’s hard to tell, but Emil thinks that he might even be smiling just the tiniest bit.

By the time Emil has worked his way all the way across Lalli's shoulders, down his back and up again to his neck, the scout is perfectly relaxed, his head resting against Emil’s forearm and eyes closed. Emil is loath to rouse him ‒ this is likely to be the only private moment they get today ‒ but the others must be almost done with their breakfast, and besides, the water in the tub won’t stay warm for much longer.  
“Lalli?” Emil shakes the scout’s shoulder gently. “Time to get out of the bath.”  
Lalli opens his eyes with a disgruntled grumble, but only hunches lower into the water.  
“Come on, I know the air is cold, but that water isn’t getting any warmer either”, Emil tells him, picking up a waiting towel from the rack behind him. “I’ll get you dry in no time at all”, he adds, holding it up in invitation. Lalli still hesitates in the tub.  
“Your breakfast is getting cold, too”, Emil wheedles, though he has no idea if Lalli has understood any of what he has said so far. He has the feeling that the Finn often listens more to his tone of voice than his actual words.

Lalli throws him a dirty look and crosses his arms across his chest. Emil wonders, briefly, whether the scout might be getting sick. He’s never particularly enthusiastic about leaving the warm water, but this level of reluctance is still unusual. It’s not like Lalli isn’t used to the cold, and the camouflage tarp draped over the sides of the tank even provides them with some protection from the wind. Maybe he should ask Mikkel to take Lalli’s temperature later, just in case…

Then Lalli lets out a decisive huff and pushes himself to his feet in one, fluid movement ‒ and suddenly, the source of his unwillingness to get out of the tub is very apparent indeed.

Lalli is beautiful, the droplets of water clinging to his skin glistening in the pale winter sunlight that filters through the translucent cloud cover. His breath is fogging up in the cool air, escaping in white puffs from between his lips. He’s too skinny, really, his legs too long for his body and his hips too bony, but somehow, with his back ramrod-straight and shoulders open, he still manages to look well-proportioned, even strong.

Emil’s eyes, however, are unavoidably drawn to Lalli’s very obvious erection, which he doesn’t even try to cover anymore now that he’s out of the water. The sight of him standing there, aroused and unashamed, makes heat flood into Emil’s entire body. Whatever it is that he wants with Lalli, he wouldn’t mind if it included this. No, he wouldn’t mind at all.

When he finally manages to drag his gaze up to Lalli’s face, he finds the Finn glaring back at him defiantly, head held up high. Still, there’s a hint of uncertainty in the tight set of Lalli’s jaw. Meeting his eyes makes Emil feel light-headed.  
“I ‒ I could help you with that if you want”, he stammers breathlessly, extending a hesitant hand towards Lalli. 

Lalli’s eyebrows shoot up, and for a fraction of a second, Emil fears that he’s made a terrible mistake. Then slim, strong fingers close firmly around his, and Lalli steps daintily out of the tub and into Emil’s arms.

Emil quickly drapes the towel around Lalli’s shoulders, grabs another one from the washing line behind him and drops it on the ground so Lalli doesn’t have to stand barefoot in the slush. Mikkel will be mad, but he’ll probably have no trouble believing that Emil got the towel dirty out of sheer clumsiness.

His hands certainly feel clumsy now, as he takes hold of Lalli’s shoulders and turns him so that they are front to back, Lalli’s naked buttocks pressed against Emil’s crotch. But even if Emil’s hands are unsteady, Lalli doesn’t seem to mind, sinking back against him willingly and humming softly in his throat when Emil wraps his arms around him. The skin on his belly is smooth and supple under Emil’s touch, but his stomach muscles contract when Emil lets his fingers travel along the trail of curly hair, still wet from the bath, leading down from his navel.

Emil wonders if Lalli can feel his heart pounding as he hesitates, one hand paused just above Lalli’s groin, the other splayed across his ribs. It’s a moment of mingled disbelief and doubt as the reality of it catches up with him ‒ that he’s holding a naked Lalli in his arms, that Lalli _wants_ him and is squirming against him in a way that’s soon going to have him hard and squirming, too ‒ and that all this is happening in their camp, in broad daylight, and that someone could walk around the rear of the tank right now and find Emil with his hand a hair’s breadth away from Lalli’s cock.

Then Lalli breathes “ _Emil_ ”, and Emil realizes that Lalli needs him right now, and that he wants nothing more than to hear his name fall from Lalli’s lips like this again.

Lalli lets out a shuddering gasp when Emil’s fingers wrap around his cock. One of his hands fumbles back to bunch itself into the hem of Emil’s coat. The other closes over Emil’s hand and jerks it upward, squeezing, showing him how he likes it. As Emil strokes him another time, and again, sliding his other hand up to fondle a hardened nipple, Lalli’s head falls back to expose his neck. His skin is still damp, and there’s a faint taste of soap when Emil kisses it, lets his mouth wander all the way down to Lalli’s shoulder before returning back up to nip gently at his earlobe, which is soft, so very soft, between his teeth.

If Emil could, he would take his time, savouring how hot and heavy Lalli’s cock is in his hand, exploring the way caressing his balls makes him writhe so that Emil can’t help grinding up against him in return. He’d run his fingers along the insides of Lalli’s thighs and whisper into his ear how beautiful and perfect and arousing he is, not caring if the Swedish words were understood or not.

But it’s cold and they don’t have much time before the others start wondering what’s taking them so long. Lalli bites back a moan and bucks his hips forward as Emil picks up his rhythm. He’s close, very close, and a final squeeze of Emil’s fingers is enough to push him over the edge, his spine arching as he thrusts once, twice, and slumps back against Emil, utterly spent.

They stay there in silence, Lalli letting Emil support most of his weight and resting his head against Emil’s cheek. Emil pulls Lalli more tightly against him, buries his face in Lalli’s still-damp hair. The faint sound of the others’ conversation drifts into his ears from the other side of the tank, but apart from that, the only sound he can hear is Lalli’s gradually steadying breathing. 

He’s half hard against Lalli’s back, knows that he won’t have the time to slip behind the trees to take care of it if he doesn’t get Lalli dressed and the washtub emptied and put away before the others are done with their breakfast. Yet he doesn’t move. Doesn’t want this moment to end.

Maybe Lalli doesn’t want it to end either. There are goosebumps rising up on his naked skin, but he only burrows deeper into Emil’s embrace, even though a thin towel and faint body heat dampened by layers of clothes can’t possibly be enough against the raw mid-winter air. When the first shiver racks Lalli’s body, Emil knows that their time is up.

Lalli dresses quickly, without looking at him. Emil busies himself with emptying the washtub and putting away the used towels ‒ one muddy, one with other stains whose origin Mikkel will hopefully not realize. When he turns around, Lalli is standing there, watching him. He looks softer, somehow, in the thick sweater with the high collar that almost hides his chin, and his hair a fluffy mess, pointing every which way. Perhaps there’s a hint of that same softness in his eyes, too, when he looks at Emil, though his mouth is serious.

It quirks up, however, when Emil reaches a hand out to neaten his hair. And then Lalli glances down and his face breaks into a real, mischievous smile as he steps forward, slips one hand to the small of Emil’s back and the other to the bulge in the front of Emil’s pants.

Renewed desire slams into Emil like a punch in the stomach. He can only nod mutely, mouth suddenly dry, when Lalli tilts his head to the side in silent question. Immediately, Lalli’s hand is at his waistband, deft fingers making short work of the button and zipper ‒

“Eeemil!”  
Sigrun’s voice, carrying loud and clear from the other side of the tank, makes both of their heads snap up in unison.  
“Make the scout hurry up and get dressed, I’ve got some questions about today’s route!”  
“We’re almost done!” Emil hollers back over his shoulder. He turns back to Lalli, regretfully pulling out of his hold.  
“You’d better go”, he tells the scout, jerking his head towards the tank. “Sigrun wants you.”  
Lalli hesitates, his eyes flitting down to Emil’s open pants and back, questioning.  
“I’ll be fine”, Emil assures him, forcing a rueful smile. “Don’t worry about it.”  
Lalli’s eyes hold his for a moment more. Then he nods, leans forward and plants a brief kiss at the corner of Emil’s mouth before turning away.

Maybe it’s an apology, maybe it’s a promise. Whatever it is, it leaves Emil with a tingle of warmth inside him despite the aching disappointment in his groin, and his heart feels light as he watches Lalli’s slim form disappear behind the corner of the tank. There’ll be other quiet mornings, other decontamination baths. Moments that can be stolen, words that can be spoken, feelings that can be discovered and allowed to grow. 

They’ve pushed something new into motion today, and Emil still isn’t sure what that something is going to become, exactly. With the ghost of Lalli’s lips still lingering on his, though, he’s pretty sure that it’s going to be something good.


End file.
